


Give it some time

by enigmaticme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, I think?, Large Insertion, Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticme/pseuds/enigmaticme





	Give it some time

He's not quite certain how it had come to this. No, not the death. Dying was something he had always known was going to happen, welcomed it even. From the day he had been hatched, he had never precisely run from death. He had survived, yes. Survived the brooding caverns, survived the brutal training, under the Highblood's equally brutal tutelage. But he saw no reason to hide the fact that he was afraid. 

No, he welcomed his death with open arms. It was just a surprise when a small girl returned the gesture. 

She was a tiny thing, by comparison. Not ridiculously so, not more than any little girl is compared to a hulking man of his stature. As a low blood, she was very well developed, though he saw fit to not dare explore her body with his eyes. He was no lech. No, he was more interested in her personality, dazzling as it was, bright smile, bright expression, bright EVERYTHING. It was heartening. Even when she was speaking of morbid things, he could not find it in him to even try to turn the subject around. He was her audience, adoring, yet silent. 

As kindly as she took everything, she did took that much less so. 

"why do you never look at me?"

"How can you even know, my eyes remain white as milk, and they always have been as such."

She's not stupid, he never had the audacity to believe that. 

"you always tilt them just a little bit away! its very obvious and very rude"

He curls his hands at his waist, shifting a little bit from his seat. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable, it was simply because she had caught him in an unbelieveable gaff, and he was truly sorry for it.

"I apologize for my rudeness, aradia. Please trust that i had but only the best intentions. You are quite formidable, quite dazzling. I do not believe my current headgear is sufficient to properly mitigate such light."

She giggles at that, and he thinks it's pure sunshine. Which is a double entendre, of sorts, considering the fact that the sun is can sear the flesh off of most's bones. Apt, he would say. 

"youre just like him. except a lot more mature, id say." She turns her head a bit, clearly perturbed by events in her past. Mm... it was probably his own fault. He had left his descendant a poor example of nobility, and the piper had paid its price. She notices his furrowed brow, and smiles that perky quintessence. He can't help but melt a bit. Though, there's JUST something about it. Something he feels as though he should realize, but his brain is racking itself to remember, dusty columns of long past interactions being brought up for the first time in a century. 

She removes herself from the chair, and he tilts his head a bit in curiosity. Though her "god-tier" is rather baggy, it does nothing to stop themselves from framing her hips, and he flushes despite himself. He had, long ago, learned to control his actions, control his strength. For Queen, country, and whatever else that entailed. 

It's a short order, but she's on top of his lap, knees on either side of his hips, delicious thighs pressing up against him. He know remembered what her expression was. It was a girl possessed by lust. There was nothing wrong with it, there was nothing that he felt should be admonished for such a thing. It still left him a bit cowed, though. 

"Aradia, I do not wish to hurt you." He is very serious, very calm. What a fuddy duddy.

Her fingers walk up the broadness of his chest, eyes half lidded, fluttering at him in adoration. He was the audience, even still, the venue had simply changed. 

"then dont" It seemed so simple, really, as she began hurriedly undoing his clothes. He was an edifice for her enjoyment, and he was well aware of that. He would not change it for anything. Those glaringly warm hands find purchase on his bare chest, pushing him against the chair. He could resist it quite easily. He doesn't. Her fingers are quick, greedy, kinesthetically mapping out his musculature. Though there's that nervousness, that haughty fluttering deep in her chest. She was, of course, still a little girl. He's disrobed, or at least as disrobed as one could be while sitting in a chair, his clothes either undone or ripped off callously. The first time she did it, it was an accident, and she looked up at him with worried eyes. 

He laughed. He laughed in that ridiculous way, at the pretense that both of them were showing. Those big, strong hands hold her like fine china, as he brings her in for a small, reassuring kiss. She relaxes against him, plump, scarlet lips moulding against his. Her new body had been relatively... fresh, in its awakening. Never touched, never... well. She hadn't had the time to release any built up hormones. It's not as though either of these facets would be something he'd have minded. Though in death, he had been humbled, he had shared his own fair amount of partners. Some of them. Made him sweat a bit. Thinking about past lovers (and haters) would normally be counter-intuitive to the process, but it's that experience he brings that would assuredly make this whole process easier on her. She's obviously not a novice, that much is clear, and yet... he was certain she had never done anything with a "man". 

He sets to work, carefully plucking away her clothes, taking extra pains to NOT rip them as they are tugged away. She's abashed, somewhat, when her bare chest is shown. He lets his lips cajole the obfuscating arms apart, enjoying the way she moaned as he flecked those tender kisses along her skin. Not one inch is left untouched by him, from the haunch of her shoulder, to the lower part of her abdomen. 

It comes to not surprise to him, when she gets tired of wearing pants. Her legs slip out of the cloth, though it's a little more awkward for her when she has to unwrap those bandages. He watches her, leaning back on his lap, undoing them as quickly as she can. It's rather adorable. When she is no longer burdened by clothes of any sort, she tells him to take off the pants. It's very commandeering, and she smirks in that way that suggests she knows how to work him. And she does. They do come off, and his length bobs out of the confining cloth, standing at attention rather proudly. It is not ridiculously sized, not like what he imagined the gargantuan man like the Highblood would have. But from her expression, it is larger than anything she's ever taken. He rubs at her hip, kisses her again, tells her that she may take as much time as she desires. 

He's not honestly sure if she's appreciative of it. It doesn't matter. She wastes no time in teasing him, rubbing the sheer warmth of her body against the underside of his cock, her hands moving up and down its length in long, slow strokes. He's panting, rather dark blue in the face by this point. Though he can't quite regulate the flow of blood, everything else is a show for her. He could easily not react so wonderfully. He does anyways. 

She rises up from her position on his lap, gently crowning herself around the head of his prick, steadying herself on his chest. He makes no move to hinder or hasten her, simply encouraging her with gentle assurance. It's slow. Torturously so. And he would not have it any other way. The way she wiggles her lovely hips, her own moaning and panting filling up the room around them, her slick, tight entrance so resplendently squeezing down on his already fully aroused length. He would not have it any other way. 

Eventually, she manages to take all of him, panting wonderfully, the dulcet tones like music to him. His hands grasp the entirety of her hips, one of his thumbs finding that pulsating, jewel of pleasure, rubbing it up and down as carefully as he's able. It's blessed comfort for her, her expression making him smile. Those dull teeth are sucking in her bottom lip, her cheek pressed down onto his chest as she begins to grind against him. The feeling is too much for her, and she comes in a shuddered gasp, spilling translucent maroon all over his lap. He chuckles, petting her hair, telling her she did wonderfully. She wants to continue. He has absolutely none of that. 

There is an impasse, of sorts, but he settles it by saying she may continue to sit on his lap, as he strokes himself to completion. She calls him a deviant. He could refuse that descriptor. 

He does not.


End file.
